


Devil in Disguise

by TeaRex



Series: The Devil isn't necessarily the Villain [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, my amateur writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaRex/pseuds/TeaRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks post that night, Pietro's subtle taunting takes it toll. Sequel to 'The Devil in the Details'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil in Disguise

The cafeteria was a wide open space under a dome of glass, illuminating the circular room in natural light. Sporadically placed were table and chairs, plush lounges, high tables with bar stools; anything to suit your fancy for a enjoyable break. Darcy and yourself were meeting for lunch; Darcy having escaped her laboratory duties and you, freshly bruised and sore from concluding an obstacle session with Barton. Having selected your meals, you trail after Darcy as she navigates her way through the compacted area; inbound for a free table.

You both sit, and in the process you accidentally knock your freshly injured elbow, a gnarly bruise forming. You grimace as you inspect the site. Disorientating thoughts had distracted you for a mere moment while participating in upper body strength exercises. Swinging above the ground from one elevated bar to another; consequentially you missed grabbing the next bar and the momentary shock loosed you grip that held you suspended above the ground, resulting in you falling to the floor, landing on your elbow awkwardly. Grumpily, you had recited the event to Darcy who had cackled in reply. Seeing you inspecting the area, she makes an innocent dig at you.

“Rookie,” feigning a cough but openly smirking.

“Gah, don’t call me that,” you groan, pouting at the tease.

“Hey man, it’s the early days. Just have to establish yourself, ya know; kick some villain booty, then boom, one of the gang,” she reassures in an attempt to lift your spirit.

Pondering the comment, you glance around at your fellow S.H.I.E.L.D colleagues; peak hour lunch was in progress and the area was becoming more congested. Wind whirls behind you and carefully you note Pietro Maximoff seated with his sister Wanda but a few tables away. ‘Quick little shit.’ He wasn’t shy to openly use his abilities.

It had been two weeks; two weeks since Stark’s party; two weeks since Romanov’s dare; two weeks since you were kissed by Pietro Maximoff; two weeks since you learned first hand he was a good kisser; two weeks since you had lost the dare and two weeks waiting for him to humiliate you further.

It had been two weeks of either being ignored by the fellow Avenger or being on the receiving end of his infamous smirk, serving of a reminder of what had transpired and what was to come. And it wasn’t just him; you have been getting subtle, sometimes blatant reminders of the lipped-locked event and Pietro’s ‘request’ which hung above your head. Barton made side comments; Stark had endless innuendos, even Rogers gave you a look now and then! Then there was Wanda; it had only happened twice, but both times you had shared a look; she had smiled, apologetic but sinister in a manner. 'I’m doomed.’

“Umm, hello! You’re having lunch with me or are you imagining being in the company of another?” Darcy’s comment breaking your unintentional stare at the Maximoff’s table. The intensity of you stare could have been felt by anyone and you’re surprised that Wanda hadn’t sensed it.

“Sorry,” smiling sheepishly, “Thinking about something,” you add while organising your lunch.

“Ah ha,” Darcy not buying it, raising an eyebrow at you. “You’re going about it the wrong way if you’re wanting to capture his attention,” and by ‘his’, you both knew who she was referring to.

“Even if I wanted to, that wouldn’t help…but I don’t!” hastily adding the last part.

“Sure you could, you got it going on. You’re just eager to hear his proposition,” she laughs. The 'proposition’ as it had been dubbed at S.H.I.E.L.D, was Pietro’s pending request which he HAD to ask of you which inevitably spread faster than he ever could and was now circumventing throughout every gossip circle since the day after Stark’s party.

“Darcy, you don’t get it. The guy is purposely ignoring me!” looking at her crazed, finally voicing your suspicion.

“Isn’t that what your relationship has always been?” she replied deadpanned.

“True, we’ve never been on talking terms, but the little shit is milking the situation!” Darcy leans back, looking at you with worry.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you’re complaining about, White-top over there is F.I.N.E.” she emphasises giving Pietro an appreciative glance across the room. “Don’t deny it,” giving you a matter-of-fact look.

“I’m denying it,” rubbing your hand across your face. “But I swear he’s toying with me.”

“Well yea, that’s his M.O. and he’s succeeding from your current display.” You give her a tired look. “Dude. Seriously, you need to relax. Who knows, he might be keen on 'running to the next base',” she says slyly, wiggles her eyebrows. Scoffing in disgust, you throw a chip at her, earning a laugh.

“It’s not like that! That was just a dare. He’ll probably have me steal Barton’s underwear or something,” the thought not entirely bad, actually, it was pretty fucking funny and would be payback with all his 'not-so-cryptic’ comments.

“Wow, you’re kidding yourself. Seriously, you weren’t seeing what I was,” Darcy’s expression serious. She leans forward and so do you, continuing the conversation in a hushed voices.

“It was, like, A-grade RomCom quality. White-top was totally into it and so were you. And the look he gave you afterwards, I’m suspecting major crushing from him at the moment,” Darcy finishes. Exasperated, you lean back.

“A kiss can’t just 'BAM’ change the way you think or feel about someone,” You say a little too loudly.

“Yours did,” Darcy has you and smiles victoriously. You scowl at her, but feel the blush heating your face.

“Whose feelings have changed about who?” You jolt at the voice looking to see Pietro standing beside your table. He looks between you two, smirking. You look to Darcy wide-eyed, blush darkening further and sliding down your chair slightly.

“Weeee were just having a thought provoking discussion about how sometimes a simple act can change someone’s opinion of another. Ground breaking stuff,” Darcy smiles at him, saving you from saying anything. Pietro nods in understanding.

“I see. And what is your view…?” His voice trailing, the question hanging.

“Oh! Darcy, and I’m most definitely in favour. I’ve seen it happen first-hand after all,” smiling cheekily at you and you glare back in response. Darcy, however, takes no hint.

“But (Y/N) here, is of the opposite opinion,” motioning to you and your eyes plead for her to stop.

Since arriving at your table, Pietro’s attention had been solely on Darcy, again solidifying your theory of him purposely ignoring you. But at last, he redirects that attention. You sweat under his gaze but keep your expression neutral.

“Is that so?” looking at you inquisitively, his accent accentuating the sentence. “That’s too bad, for I too, believe in such occurrences,” his smile widening. At this you finally look at him, eyes locking, his eyes laughing mirthlessly.

“Each to their own,” you shrug nonchalantly, trying to play it cool.

“Perhaps for some, all it takes is time or another event of sorts,” you look at him like he’s crazy; your eyes widening and mouth just slightly agape. His presence is now overpowering. He steps back grinning wider than ever, breaking the moment.

“Until next time,” nodding at Darcy and a brief pointed look at you before dashing to Wanda’s side who stands waiting at their table, spectating from afar. Reaching her side, they both leave, a conversation evident from where you’re seated, following their departure. Unconsciously, you release a large breath, your shoulders relaxing. Looking back at Darcy, she’s flailing her arms about, dancing in her seat, drawing the attention of those near-by.

“Whaaat!” you whine.

“Incoming! It’s going to happen any day now, he said so himself.” The words are blurted out.

“He said nothing of the sort!” spluttering at the remark.

“I wonder what it will be. A date?” Darcy taps a finger against her chin in mock concentration.

“A date?! Do you realise how cliché and ridiculous that sounds?!” gaping at her.

“This whole situation is cliché! Think about it; you two originally thought nothing of each other, then an unexpected party dare forces you together and of all people it was him. The universe wants your babies.” you stare at Darcy incredulously as she gazes past you, eyes hazed with fantastical imaginings.

“Darcy,” your voice serious and chastising. It’s breaks Darcy’s whimsical longing and you distract yourself with a bite of lunch, having been ignored all this time. Darcy stares at you but the silence is short lived.

“Why wont you give it a chance?”

“Him?! Really -” coughing on a mouthful.

“No. I mean you. When will you allow yourself a moment of happiness,” the seriousness of Darcy’s comment startles you, trying to comprehend her intention. After a moment of hesitation, you reply.

“…I am happy, Darcy,” yet you don’t believe it yourself, not entirely. Darcy gauges the comment for moment, not convinced either.

“But you could be happier. Look, I’m not ringing the wedding bells, but this might be something good, even if it’s sort lived. You deserve it. Give it a chance. Give him a chance.” You sit in silence staring at her but her eyes prove too penetrating and bow your head to observe your hands in your lap, now very interesting. From staring at the hands in your lap, you reply.

“There’s a purple elephant in the room,” you mutter. Darcy breaks the moment with a giggle.

“And don’t you know it,” looking to her once more, she winks at you. The moment passes and you both eat your lunch.

“I would fight a 'Doom Bot’ single handedly and by that I mean 'God of Blonde Hotness', to be in your place,” Darcy says wistfully. You can’t help but chuckle at the comment.

**

And so the rest of the day proceeded as any other, however, the usual obsessive thoughts about Pietro had been replaced by another. Darcy’s words had implanted themselves. It was unusual for Darcy to bestow wisdom but somehow she had the foresight to point out a flaw in the contingency. It was then, after a long and strenuous day, you found yourself in the bathtub of your bathroom. A single tea candle illuminated the room. Steam fogged the air and condensation clung to every surface, glossing it with moisture. Hair pulled back in a high-top bun, stray strands licking the waters surface; you slouch, blowing bubbles in the water, brows furrowed in concentration. Your thoughts drifting but always circled back again to the Darcy’s words.

'I like him,’ the thought whispers across your mind, and for the first time in two weeks your mind is calm at last. The bubbles cease, the water calming, the last ripples along the surface sonar out from their origin. Silence. However its deafening. A single drop from the tap echoes, punctuating the silence. Listening intently, you could hear the natural hum of the base, created by flowing electricity and mechanical structure. And it becomes too much. Pushing your feet against the end of the tub, you rise slightly from the water. Your hands rub across your face in frustration and a groan escapes.

“Noooo,” you moan over and over again. Peering wearily at the tiled wall before you, your thoughts return to their incessant flitting and racing.

'I like him. I like him. I like him.’

“Ok!” the shout explodes and you slap your hands against the water.

“Fuuuuck,” body sliding down in defeat, you rest your head back against the make-shift pillow. 'I like him.’ At last conscientiously admitting the fact. A forceful sigh is exhaled through your nose. The next questions however, is why? Why him?

'Because he kissed me.’ The statement simple yet complicated. It wasn’t your first kiss, nor your last and wasn’t the first 'mind blowing’ kiss either. Then why? Because it was him and that was unexpected. The way someone kissed could reveal a lot about them. It had been gentle, accommodating, patient, and passionate. It had revealed more about his person than what he exhibited. Could he be passionate, gentle, patient beyond the physical sense? All were desirable qualities, and you desired them.

Even so, you found it still difficult to admit such. Yes, he was physically attractive, perhaps even more so now. However, attraction was more than physicality of the person. It was the combination of their goals, personality, morals and interests. But all you had established was that he was physically attractive and a good, no, a great kisser. But it showed promise and perhaps that was it. The undiscovered potential of a lover, a partner.

At the thought, you blush and groan in frustration. The sort-after tranquil mood of a hot relaxing bath lost, you rise from the bath and proceed to dry off. Sports bra, over-sized T-shirt and pajama bottoms, you’re equipped for a comfortable night at least. Finishing your bathroom routine and releasing your hair from it’s confinement, it cascades down your back. Relaxation and comfort still the goal for the night…even if it hadn’t been totally achieved during the bath.

Each residential floor was equipped with a small kitchen and adjourning entertainment area; furnished with a lounge suite, TV and table and chairs. You find the kitchen deserted and that’s how you wanted it. Just quiet and solitude. Tired, your body goes through the motions of making a beverage to take back to your room. Tomorrow would be a tiring day; Steve had planned an early morning session commencing at 4am. Retiring to your room, you think about the day ahead; waking at 3am and reluctantly attending a guaranteed torturous session. It goes unnoticed but for the first time in two weeks, your thoughts of Pietro and that one night are non-existent.

**

At 0830hrs found Darcy making her way to one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s laboratory’s; coffee in hand and the other arm occupied with balancing reports, notes and data, to be readied and compiled for Jane’s review.

“Ooooh crap!” The heavy, unbalanced paper pile slips. Darcy scrunches her eyes, waiting for the crash and fluttering of paper to meet her ears. However, she hears nothing. Opening an eye, she peers to see before her, Pietro. He smiles at her and places the fallen paper back atop the pile.

“You almost lost this,” he says kindly, smiling warmly at her. Darcy is taken back and gapes at him for moment before collecting herself.

“Quicksilver to the rescue,” she laughs just a little awkwardly. It was unusual that any Avenger - besides Thor - or any S.H.I.E.L.D employee to casually interact with her.

“It is what I do,” shrugging it off.

“From what I hear, that’s not all you do,” giving him a smug smile. He in-turn, meets its.

“I have other…particular interests,” smiling knowingly at Darcy, and she too easily catches the hint and the surge of hype wakens her better than any double shot coffee could; her eyes widening in excitement.

“Oh, I bet you do,” and so the pair stand facing each other, the silence drawing out. Feeling the short exchange had ended, Darcy turns to go on her way, “Well, again, thanks for the save. Be seeing you around, actually more like your trail cause, ya know, you’re fast and stuff…” the sentence trailing.

“Umm!” the exclamation halts Darcy and she observes Pietro curiously as he fumbles with what he wants to say.

“I actually, ah, I had not seen, do you know where (Y/N) is?” the question catches her off guard and she stares at him. She assumed that the ‘team’ knew what each other were doing and what training session they were partaking in. Her silence made Pietro uneasy and he never being one to stay still for long, shifted his weight from foot to foot, noticing passer-bys being anything but subtle with their curiosity as they glance at the pair, stopped in the passage way.

“She mentioned having a red-eye morning sesh with Rogers, and you can imagine what kinds of hell that will be. (Y/N) was going to rescue me from my paper dictatorship and go for a coffee afterwards,” Darcy related the information and carefully gauges Pietro’s reaction, but he just nods in understanding. She decides to bait him, seeing if she’ll earn the reaction she’s hoping for.

“Actually, she mentioned that he was taking them out in the Quinjet. They would be touching down in the hangar bay about now,” at this, his eyes which were glaring at another nosy agent, zip back to her; eyes just widening slightly, enough for her to notice. ‘Score.’

“Thank you, Darcy,” he turns away only to glance back at her; a smirk clearly evident on his face. Then he’s gone from her sight, a noticeable gust of wind and silvery wisps. Darcy grins and squeals in excitement and races off to the lab. 'I love it when I’m right!’

**

“Good job, team,” Steve sounded as exhausted they felt. They made a sad little group: torn clothes, dirtied, sweaty and bruised. The stealth training, while not event free, had been successful, at the expense of their pride. Rogers and Hill had driven them hard and relentlessly.

The Quinjet touched down, exhaust roaring as the machine is lowered slowly to the platform. The tailgate lowers and sluggishly the three man team make their way off the jet. You note that Rhodes War Machine suit make weird hydrolic sounds with every step; not even he escaped the brutality. At 0830hr, the platform is buzzing with morning staff clocking on and going about their regular routines. Already mechanics have come to assess the Quinjet, commencing inspections.

You follow Rhodes and Wilson as they trudge their way across the hangar bay towards the locker-rooms. Now this isn’t your usual sports locker room. Discard your thoughts of yellow and red coloured rooms, with rushed locker doors that squeak on opening and closing; concert floors with chipped painting, almost as old as Rogers. No, this was S.H.I.E.L.D which meant the best of the best; especially for upcoming additions to the Avengers team. Each member had a personalised locker with accompanying I.D recognition and equipment to suit their particular needs.

Rhodes approached the corner of the room, stepping onto a platform where mechanical arms emerged and proceeded to remove the Iron Man styled suit. He grunted in pain as particular sections, having been dented, took more force to remove. Unsuited, he wore a black, full body one-piece, specialised for additional protection and cooling.

“I’ll be getting an ear full from, Stark,” he mutters, walking to his locker and grabbing a bottle of water from inside.

You had since collapsed on the middle isle bench, sprawling yourself across the surface, limbs limp and you groan in pain, the steel surface cooling your back. Wilson chuckles, glancing at you as he opens his locker.

“Wasn’t that bad now was it, Rookie?” his tone teasing. Eyes shut, you don’t bother looking to him when you reply. Even talking requiring too much effort.

“Says the guy whose arse I saved. More than once I might add,” you may be tired, but not enough to let his teasing slide.

“Touche. You were on game this morning. Not distracted as you have been,” Wilson smiles as he exchanges a look with Rhodes who too chuckles.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But don’t go there,” your warning clear despite your vulnerable state. Rhodes and Wilson laugh again.

“Maybe I should make it harder in future,” Rogers jests as he enters the room. Painfully you rise from your position to slouch while giving Rogers your attention, albeit unenthusiastic.

“Just some locker-room banter, Cap,” Rhodes replies. Rogers clues in immediately as to what the probable topic was and gives you a sympathetic smile.

“I expect your individual reports by 0900hrs hours tomorrow morning detailing the strengths and weakness of your own individual participation and of your other team-members. Summarise the session; where improvements are needed, what you did correctly and incorrectly and in future, what tactics should have been utilised.” Rogers looks to each individual, his voice authoritative and commanding respect. Everyone nods in understanding.

“(Y/N),” Rogers says before leaving, “Nice work today. Good to see you focused.” And there it was, a cheeky glint in his eyes. And he leaves without waiting for your response. 'Unbelievable!’ Groaning again, you flop back to lie again the on the bench top.

“See, even Cap has noticed,” Wilson comments.

“Gah! I’m distracted; you guys give me hell! I’m focused; you guys rub it in my face! Just choose one already!” Your arms and legs flailing in protest.

“So you have been distracted?” It’s rhetorical, but Wilson has you.

“Shut up,” you mutter, it’s all you can muster. In truth, yes, you had managed to establish some sort of tranquility; gone were your obsessive thoughts about Pietro and what hell awaited you when he decided to keep his end of YOUR dare. Perhaps it was the realisation but more-so the acceptance that, yes, in small way, like, molecular sized scale, you did like the guy. And once again, you were focused on your training. But in all seriousness, your distraction hadn’t been that noticeable had it? Sure you had been somewhat clumsy and had suffered more injuries than usual, earning reprimands from Rogers or whoever was leading a class.

Throwing an arm over your eyes to block out the florescent lights, you muse. Agonisingly, you ask the question that has now disturbed your peace of mind.

“I haven’t been that bad…have I?” the question is asked hesitantly. Rhodes and Wilson exchange another look, both still in the process of organising themselves.

“You serious?!” Rhodes looking at you in disbelief. At this, you roll over to look at him, and note his expression. To confirm you then look to Wilson, who grimaces at Rhodes crass response.

“Perhaps you should review some of your training logs,” and you stare at Wilson, expression deadpanned. Wilson caves at the look, realising now you wont settle without an explanation. He sighs.

“Look, it’s been pretty evident that Max-something has been on your mind. Honestly, no-one would deny finding the last weeks entertaining but, it would get to the point that if it continued, your distraction would jeopardise the safety of yourself and your co-workers.” The small hick-up goes unnoticed as the truth hits hard, guilt swelling, ’…jeopardise your safety and your co-works.’ repeating over and over. Wilson observes your distress and hastens to rectify his comment.

“Hey now, look at today’s session, as Cap said; you did good out there. You were focused, calculative and you carried the team. The best I’ve seen of you.”

“Sam’s right, (Y/N). You proved yourself today, and we all recognise that,” Rhodes adds, trying to to apologies for his careless comment. You contemplate what they had both said; ultimately nothing serious had happened, just some teasing and laughter at your expense, and bruising both physical and emotional, but it could have been worse. Internally you steel yourself; you will remain focused on the job at hand, and not allow further silly distractions.

You smile meekly, reassuring them of your resolve. Wilson, pats you on the back, the act comforting.

“Well, I’m hitting the shower, Rhodes?” Wilson gathers clothes from his locker and makes his way to the adjourning bathroom, stopping to await Rhodes response.

“No, I’ll grab one in my room before heading off to seek Stark out for repairs,” he piles some belongings into a bag then heaves it over a shoulder.

“Have fun with that. (Y/N)?” looking to you.

“You go ahead. I’ll be in shortly,” he nods in response.

“See you two later,” Rhodes waves and exits the room. Wilson then too steps forward towards the automated doors at the opposite end of the room, before entering the bathroom. Alone at last, you sigh. Wilson and Rhodes comments still echo in your mind, but for now you have to ready yourself to meet Darcy. 'Save me!’ Remembering her plead from yesterday.

Standing, you approach your locker and grasp the handle waiting for the confirmation bing of the finger print recognition. Opening the door, you withdraw a toiletries bag; soap, shampoo, conditioner and all necessary items within. Next you proceed to pull off you dirtied jacket. You grimace when you note several tears. Tossing it to the bench you look at yourself in the mirror of the locker door; dirt smudges you face and neck, sweat soaking your singlet and prickling you forehead, your hair tangled in a loose pony-tail. You wipe your face with your hands in an effort to remove some dirt, rubbing your neck and arms, smearing the sweat. Looking down, miraculously your cargo pants and boots remain intact, just in need of a good wash, mud caking the soles of your boots and splattering the pants.

A small whirl of wind goes unnoticed and when you direct your gaze to the mirror once again, you startle at seeing a figure behind you. Your eyes bulge and you whirl around to face them directly.

“Pietro?!” looking at him dumbfounded. His presence confuses you or perhaps exhaustion prevents you from comprehending anything. He leans against the end locker at the entrance, arms crossed against his chest, smirking.

“Another victim succumbs to Rogers notorious session, I see,” his accent punctuating each word, eyes unbashful as they rake your body. You compose yourself, not even five minutes ago being informed that you had been distraction free, that shit wasn’t about to start again.

“We did well, ask Rogers if you like.” your tone stern, ignoring how it physically felt like his eyes were brushing your body as they inspected.

“I would take your word for it,” he confuses you, expecting outward teasing, but he subtle about it. You eye him wearily, not wanting to turn your back and continue with your interrupted activity. You settle for folding your jacket, keeping him within sight.

Instantaneously, he’s before you and you jump at the Quickster’s action. Fatigue has dulled you senses and reaction time. His eyes are narrowed as he inspects something and questionably you follow his gaze to where you see a graze on the bicep of your right arm. Debris must have sliced through the fabric and cut you as well; the wound has bled, but only a small trickle has tracked down your arm. Looking back at Pietro, he continues to inspect the area, slowly he reaches out a hand but you move back at the movement and he halts. Confused he looks at you.

“You are hurt,” and you hear the worry in his voice. You truly can’t fathom why.

“It’s just a scratch. A wash is all it needs,” you state matter-of-factly. At this, Pietro seems to compose himself and takes a step back, distancing himself.

“What do you want, Pietro?” you are tired, needing a shower, and soon to be late meeting Darcy. He rolls his shoulders, and cocks his head to the side, as if readying himself.

“I am here with my proposition,” the sentence is solid. And you gape in surprise.

“Seriously?! Now?!” of all times for him to do this, he chooses now, “Pietro, look, I'm exhausted and dirty! Can’t this…can’t this wait?” despite trying to negotiate calmly, your pulse is now very noticeable, raging inside you.

“Nyet,” He responds instantly in Sokovian but corrects himself, “No.” His stare steeled and unwavering. “Without reason, you can not refuse and this is good time as any other,” A smirk playfully taunting you. “We are alone. Would you not agree better situated than we were last time.” The reference to Stark’s party.

“Wilson, Sam, is right behind that door!” you hiss at him, pointing to the door, anxiousness threatening to ruin your composure.

“Then we better not waste time,” he states. Obviously not going let the topic drop, you lick your lips in frustration glancing quickly to the bathroom door. The shower can still be heard from within the locker-room. Groaning in frustration, you give in.

“Fine! Fine!” motioning to him to continue. Crossing your arms across your chest, internally you chant 'Steal Clint’s underwear. Steal Clint’s underwear.’ You watch as he reaches behind him and withdraws a cloth, a tea-towel to be exact, from his back pocket. You look at it inquisitively until, like a punch to the gut, you realise it’s the same tea-towel. The same tea-towel used from that night. The shock can’t be contained.

“I would have that night again,” he has since dropped the smirk, and stares at you seriously. You want to run, by God you want to but are rooted to the spot as if your mud caked boots have cemented you in-place. The request is pending, your mind analysing the words yet not comprehending. You stare at him, mouth gaping. He takes one step forward and that triggers you, countering the move by stepping backwards. He raises the tea-towel, whether as a means to calm, you’re not sure. At last finding yourself, all you can manage is:

“What?!” Future retelling would neglect to mention how you squeaked in reply. His mouth twitches at the exclamation and he steps forward again.

“I would blindfold you and share but a simple moment,” you are amazed how he manages to side-step the word 'kiss’. Because that’s what he wants, to kiss you again. 'But why?!’ With confidence he takes one last step and is now before you. You stare at him and he at you.

“Will you trust me?” the question is hesitant because ultimately, it’s your choice.

_“A kiss can’t just 'BAM’ change the way you think or feel about someone.”_

_“Yours did.”_

The conversation with Darcy, just one day before, whispers across your mind. And miraculously you find yourself nodding. Slowly, he walks around behind you and you can’t suppress a shiver. The tea-towel is brought before your eyes and just momentarily it lingers before encasing your sight in darkness. You feel as it’s secured tightly, knotted behind your head. And then his touch leaves you. The cloth has muffled your hearing as well and you can’t hear Pietro’s foot steps as he circles you. But you can sense it. Romanov’s classes haven’t been for naught. Ghosting around, you can feel his presence as he circles. It’s both terrifying and exciting and the feeling confuses you.

**

His hands ghost across (Y/N)’s lips, following her jaw up to her ears, then continuing down her neck, across her shoulders and arms. They then trail her clavicle and along the border of the singlet. Pietro inspects every area in fascination, noting every characteristic and detail. He loves the dirt stained skin, the glossy sweat and it’s faint salty scent. He traces a hand back up to her face where he observes her lips; slightly pursed, dry and cracked from vigorous training and windburnt ever slightly, but the bottom lip is oh so plump, awaiting his caress. He tilts his head and hoovers his lips just centimeters from hers. She can undoubtedly feels his breath tickling her lips, drawing out the tension. With one last teasing moment, he locks them together. Unlike last time, their lips match each others pace, moving together and against each other.

**

The kiss is soft, gentle, synchronised and short lived. Pietro pulls away and your body can’t help but follow movement. It wasn’t what you had expected. You feel his hands untie the knotted tea-towel, some strands of hair are caught and tugged. Your eyes are unveiled and your sight adjusts to the lighting. Pietro still stands before you and you can’t help but look at him confused. He smirks openly, confusing you further. Was it just a joke? The thought twisting your gut. The thought, however is obliterated when he leans in, grasping you face and kisses you again. Tentatively, you reach up grabbing his skin tight top and the other hand winding around his neck and caressing the border of his hair line at the base of his neck.

Caught in the moment, neither of you have noticed that the shower has since stopped, and footsteps encroach closer, soon to be revealed to the situation taking place in the locker-room. But in one last, fortunate second, breaking contact and pulling back for air, the two of you hear it. Pietro turns round to glance at the automated doors and your eyes widen as you watch them open. But no sooner before they have entirely, your breath is knocked from your body as Pietro grabs hold of you and dashes to the other side of the lockers. His body presses yours against the locker behind you, sandwiching you in place. Breaths stilled, you both listen as Sam walks into the room, bathroom thongs slapping the floor as he walks, and seemingly unaware of what had just transpired. You hear a locker door open and the rustling of a bag. But it’s when the movement stops and silence encases the room that your heart stops.

“(Y/N)?” Wilson calls out. It’s then that you remember your belongings littered the bench and your locker remained open; the scene reeked of suspicion. You and Pietro remain looking in the direction of the bathroom door, for just around the corner, stood Wilson. Tension continues to build when Wilson receives no reply. You imagine him assessing the scene with increasing interest, brows furrowed as he inspects.

At the sound the locker-room door openly, you breathe a silent sigh of relief. You listen as someone approaches Wilson’s position.

“Clint,” Wilson greets and identifies the new individual. “You look to be on a mission.” The conversation now distracting Wilson from his previous train of thought.

“You could say that. That punk is late for his session,” Barton grumbles and Wilson chuckles. It’s apparent to all individuals in the room whom Barton is referring to. You nudge Pietro and he turns to grin at you. You fight a smile and hear Wilson laugh again.

“You definitely have your hands full then. What made you look here?” The question intrigues even yourself. Titling your head to better hear the conversation, Pietro shuffles, still holding you in place against the locker. Too busy concentrating on the conversation, Pietro’s intentions go unnoticed until he bend his head and commences to kiss your now exposed neck. The action jolts you and you hasten to push against him, encouraging him to stop. Pietro however ignores your protests and secures you further, wrangling your right wrist and carefully planting it the metal surface. He kisses under your ear, where the jaw and neck meet. You stifle a gasp as the area is both highly sensitive and ticklish. Stubble grazes along the exposed skin, heightening the experience. The kisses travel lower down your neck and evolve into sucks and nips, and he ensures to keep the transgression silent.

On your part, it’s much more difficult; you alternate between gritting your teeth and clasping your free left hand against your mouth, aiming to muffle any sounds that might escape. Adrenalin and lust pump throughout your body, amazing you that such a simple action could send you stir crazy. Stealthy, Pietro adjusts a leg and secures it between your thighs, pressing upwards against your groin. A whine escapes, protesting the action because if this keeps going, you’ll both be caught and that’s the last thing you want. ‘What?!’ The thought surprising yourself. His tongue can be felt massaging your skin with each suck, leaving a glistening wet trail. Up and down he goes and then arriving at that sensitive area once again. Your right hand clenches and unclenches, fighting against his hold, because all you want it you grab hold of him; whether it be his top, neck or his hair, you so desperately need something.

With the combination of his sweet kisses under your ear and his subtle grinding of his thigh against your groin, you can’t help crave the need to release the building tension. Your hips rock in the opposite direction of his leg, creating more friction against your building arousal. It’s all too much, you want to cry out, moan, gasp and whine! Your concentration is fading, and a small high pitched groan escapes, earning a throaty chuckle from Pietro. The conversation but two meters from you now lost to your arousal.

**

Pietro however, while slowly succumbing to your reactions and wanting more, retains some self-restrain for he’s aware that two Avengers other than yourselves, are still present in the room. He doesn’t increase his ministrations, keeping them steady and trying to resist revisiting (Y/N)’s newly discovered erogenous zone, for the sounds she makes and how her body sings is addictive.

**

Unbeknownst to (Y/N) and Pietro, mid-conversation with Sam, Clint spots something of a curious and intriguing nature. Sam watches as Clint reaches for a cloth on the floor. Clint inspects it critically and then a grin etches across his face

“MmmAhh!” Clint eyes flicker to the sound, did he imagine it? He steps around Sam who watches him curiously. Clint’s sense are highly attuned, a requirement of any assassin. He edges to the end of the locker row and halts.

'If their aiming to be quiet, their doing a piss poor job,’ he muses to himself, for just around the corner, (Y/N) and Pietro are flushed against each other, succumbing to their kept desires. He doesn’t need to visually see them to verify what’s transpiring. Clint turns back to Sam who continues to watch him.

“You a'ight?” raising an eyebrow at him. Clint smirks.

“Just confirming a theory,” his response cryptic but Sam’s expects nothing less. If Clint wanted him to know, he would have said outright. Sam has since exiting the bathroom, clothed himself and readied his bag.

“Well, you haven’t found what you’re looking for, where to next?” Sam motions to Clint and the both make their way to the exit.

“Oh, I found it but I’ll let it go for today. Tomorrow however…” Clint lets the sentence trail and Sam imagines all kinds of hell the Maximoff Twin is in for. A thought lingers though; Sam thinks back to the tea-towel that Clint had found, somehow feeling like he had missed a huge reveal.

“Dude, you have to quit it with the spy talk.” Sam and Clint’s laughter fading down the hall.

**

Your hand clasps over your mouth once more. Fear and lust now raging within you. 'Fuck, how loud was I?!’ Pietro doesn’t chastise your escaped moan and you can feel him smile into your neck and you hear him chuckle, deep and throaty. 'Of course he thinks this is funny!’ He continues, more kissing and less biting, staying clear of that particular spot. Oh, but how you want him to revisit it! You feel him still and he pauses for a brief moment.

“They have gone,” he whispers into your ear, his accent thick with lust and you have no reason to doubt him. Letting your hand fall from your mouth, you release a moan.

“Oh Gods!” relief and excitement for a brief moment overpowering your other roaring emotions. And he turns your head to meet his and crushes your lips together in a passionate kiss. 'Yes,’ You manage to think, 'This is what I remember.’ Your right wrist is released from his grip and you waste not time entwining your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, if that were even possible.

Grinding against each other, lips, tongue and teeth, wet and heated, and sweaty once more. The feeling, both physical and emotional are addictive but simultaneously, you feel like you’re drowning, all being too much to comprehend. How can anyone handle such an experience? You hear Pietro groan, almost painful. His hands are everywhere, grabbing at your hips, hands sliding and mapping your torso, cupping and grasping your bottom pulling your hips against each others when for a moment they part. You slide along his thigh at this action, losing some friction and whine out loud at the loss.

Remaining on your feet is proving difficult, with the incessant grinding and sliding, your legs losing what strength they had, now jelly like and feeble. But he supports the weight and lifts his knee higher, and now flush against him, you manage to wrap a leg around his hip and he pushes you back against the locker. All the while, you both never break contact; kissing, rubbing and grasping at each other. You hear yourself moan 'Pietro!’ but whether you verbally said it or not, you’re unsure and frankly don’t care.

Pietro’s kisses rotate from focusing you mouth to your jaw and neck. He targets that one particular area once more and you can’t hold back the scream-like moan. His touch is intoxicating and you can’t imagine a time other than this moment. Between the moaning, puffs of breath and wet kisses the silence is broken.

“Would-” kiss, “You say that your opinion-” kiss, “Has changed-” kiss, “During our second-” suck, “encounter?” Through your own intoxicated haze and Pietro’s lustful accent, the question is barely decipherable. Pulling back reluctantly and pressing your forehead against his, you rearrange your thoughts. This was the moment.

_“You deserve it. Give it a chance. Give him a chance.“_

_‘I like him.’_

_“Will you trust me?”_

Snippets from the past day race across your mind, and it’s then that you realise that you had already chosen. When Pietro had present the tea-towel, the act itself an olive branch, you had taken it willingly, wanting what accompanied the gesture. Because you believed, no, knew, there was more behind the disguise of that initial kiss. He awaited your answer with trepidation and you wondered if he too was scared, even the slightest. The grip that held you had tightened by not enough to hurt; you wonder if this signaled his fear of rejection, did he really care that much? ‘Why deny this.’ And with a shaky inhale, you ready yourself.

“You had me from the first,” Your smile small and shy but genuine. In-turn comprehending your words, he returns it with a subtle one of his own; no hint of cockiness or taunting. Emphasising your intent, you pull Pietro into a kiss of your own, and he can’t help but grin from ear to ear. Before succumbing to each other again, you try to remind yourself to thank Darcy for her words of wisdom.

‘Oh shit, Darcy!

**

Fin!

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is, the second installment to the now titled 'The Devil isn't necessarily the Villain' series. Hope you enjoy!


End file.
